


thoughtscape

by cloudsleeper



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsleeper/pseuds/cloudsleeper
Summary: The sunset drapes a gentle orange glow over the cityscape and for a moment, she forgets.(a brief story about an inkling afraid to ink.)





	thoughtscape

“I’d rather not,” she says for the seventy-sixth time. At least, she thinks it’s the seventy-sixth time. She’s very nearly lost count. Her friend to her right, a self-proclaimed fashionista Inkling with a penchant for being trigger happy, nudges her with a mixture of playfulness and agitation.

“You’re serious? You haven’t joined us in _months_.”

The galactic seanwich sits in front of her, uneaten.

 

To her left, her Octoling friend glances at her in sympathy. He’s more of the quiet type, and his keen eyesight lends itself to his exceptional sniping abilities.

“It’s okay if she doesn’t want to,” he offers in her defense and the avid gunner frowns.

“What _else_ is she going to do?” The gunner turns towards her, and says, “Listen. You’ve been absolutely scared squidless by that last Salmon Run. I get it. Loads of boss salmonids, high fog conditions, crummy teammates. But you’re not going to get over being scared by just running away from your problems. If anything, you gotta face it head on.”

The Inkling knows this, and still she shakes her head.

 

She snuck into the headquarters just three days ago, to try and rekindle her love for combat. It used to get her ink pumping with determination, but now she just feels scared and numb when it comes to inking almost anything. Feels like being dunked into an ice bath, she thinks morosely.

Testing new weapons, trying different tactics- none of it works. Her palms still turn sweaty, and her mouth still feels dry.

 

The gunner sighs, and checks the time on her inkPhone. “Okay. Just let us know if you decide otherwise. I’m gonna jet for a quick turf war with some pals.” She stands up, hauls a brand name Toni Kensa pack over her shoulder, and makes to leave.

“Thanks,” the Inkling manages, and the unspoken apology floats awkwardly on the single word of gratitude. She receives a nod and an understanding smile in return.

“Just keep it in mind,” the gunner says, and leaves with a wave.

There’s only two of them near the Crust Bucket now, and her remaining companion breaks the silence.

“I saw you leave the Salmon Run HQ earlier this week, you know.” She freezes mid-smoothie sip and turns to glance at him. Woops. Guess she wasn’t as subtle as she thought.

“So, I need to ask you a question.” The Octoling prompts. She gulps, a little wary.

“Are you having fun right now?” His voice is curious. The Inkling swallows. If it were a year ago, her answer would have been a resounding and confident _yes._ But right now-

She can’t say that she is.

Thinking back, she’s spent the last few months stewing like calamari in cioppino. It hasn’t been fun at all.

He stands up, and pulls her to her feet.

“If you’re not having fun,” he says, “then how about trying something new for a change?” At her puzzled expression, the Octoling gives her a gentle grin.

“Come on. There’s something you should see.”

 

He leads her through graffiti-covered alleys, up narrow plaster walls, along grassy ledges. It seems like hours and hours.

“Just a bit longer,” he says. They’re climbing the steps of a dimly lit office building. She thinks the place might have once been owned by Grizzco Industries, going by the flyers and posters stamped on the wall as well as some particularly bad puns about Mr. Grizz that have been spray-painted onto the walls.

She asks the Octoling about this, and he nods in return.

“Probably. No one really comes here anymore though. This place is hard to find.”

She doesn’t doubt it. With all the winding paths they’ve taken, she’s no idea where they are.

Finally, _finally_ they reach the top of the stairwell. Her feet feel like they’ve been covered in enemy ink, she’s so exhausted. The Octoling stands beneath the blaring red EXIT sign, and pushes the door open.

 

Cooling currents rush in and brush against her skin. There’s the ocean glimmering in the distance, catching yellows and orange bits of light from the setting sun. Inkopolis Plaza is but a small speck in the distance. She’s never been so far from home before.

The sunset drapes a gentle orange glow over the cityscape and for a moment, she forgets.

Seeing everything, the source of her worries, so far away in the distance, somehow makes her feel lighter. She inhales the cool ocean air.

 

Waves ebb beneath them somewhere and seagulls soar overhead.

One particularly rotund gull lands nearby, and quirks an eye at her. It waddles a little closer, and caws with a surprising amount of vigor.

A shwaffle piece lands nearby and the gull snatches it up. She turns, and sees her friend tossing bits and pieces of his own meal on the ground, and birds of all kinds are flocking around him.

He hands her half of the shwaffle silently, and she accepts it as a sparrow hops up to her looking a mixture of expectant and ravenous.

 

Some birds remain after the food is gone, pecking at crumbs on the ground. Her fingers feel a little greasy, but somehow her mind feels clearer. It’s nighttime now, and the moon casts a pale hue through the drifting clouds. Stars twinkle above them.

“I found this place while doing a bit of exploring,” her friend speaks up. “Thought you could use a change in scenery.”

Something’s caught in her throat, and she almost feels tears welling up.

“Thanks,” she says for the second time that day.

He grins at her again.

“We can come here anytime,” he says.

 

She meets them both the next day, the same place and time. They blink in pleasant surprise at the meals that she’s ordered ahead of time- shwaffles and seanwiches and smoothies and cocoa are on the tables.

“I,” she swallows. The feeling’s still there, the nervous fluttering feeling that she gets whenever she gets close to the Salmon Run Headquarters. But it’s somewhat dimmer now, and the Inkling feels like she can get through it.

“I’ll let you guys know when I’m ready.” The Inkling says, and she means it.


End file.
